


The Waters of Time

by Nadat, StarlightSkies



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: A Stitch in Time - Andrew Robinson, ASIT spoilers, Bit miffed Elim Garak & Tolan Garak isn't a pre-existing relationship tag, Character Development, Character Study, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Kelas Parmak the Sass Master, Kelas cheats at kotra and Garak would like everyone to know, M/M, Post-A Stitch in Time - Andrew Robinson, Post-Canon Cardassia, Star Trek: Just in Time Fest, Timefest, What are you all doing? WRITE MORE ASIT!, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:48:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29284035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nadat/pseuds/Nadat, https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarlightSkies/pseuds/StarlightSkies
Summary: The river changes, and Elim Garak changes with it. Or: snippets from his life and loves throughout the years.
Relationships: Elim Garak & Enabran Tain, Elim Garak & Kelas Parmak, Elim Garak & Mila Garak, Elim Garak & Tolan Garak, Elim Garak/Palandine, Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 17
Kudos: 34
Collections: Star Trek: Just in Time Fest





	The Waters of Time

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, StarlightSkies here! Thank you for picking up this work, and doubly so as it's the culmination of a beautiful effort by myself and Nadat. I think this is the quickest I've ever turned out writing, and it's all down to their inspiration and encouragement! I'll leave it to the reader to guess which parts we each wrote, but we took turns with Garak and collaborated on the other characters, all of whom play important roles in ASIT. We chose to deviate slightly from some events in the book to keep with the theme, but left the overall feelings and atmosphere alone. So, seven hours and several thousand words later, I sincerely hope you enjoy our work - and happy reading!
> 
> Hey! Nadat here. I wanted to join the Timefest and came up with a couple of ideas that didn't quite pan out, then when StarlightSkies wanted help with an idea and we started brainstorming this just _worked_ and it was an absolute delight to write with her. Thank you for reading, and I hope you have as much fun with it as we did!

The days were shorter now, obscured by winter’s looming shadow, and the air was embittered with the promise of a rare frost. Passers-by didn’t stop to greet the two figures at the river’s edge, hurrying on their way before their ridges grew too chilled for comfort. All Elim Garak could focus on, though, was the fascinating slip of leaves through the whirling current. The waters tumbled through the narrow channel on their way through the city, carved so many seasons ago that even the eldest of the ancient families could no longer remember the absence of its constancy. 

For Mila the frost was more of an excuse, a novelty that she could use to convince Tain to let her take Elim out for the morning. The cold wasn’t her particular favorite. She’d told Tolan just yesterday that she was starting to feel it in her ridges. But sometimes, despite how she cared, she did need some time away from Tain. And Elim did too. He… He was not quite as much like his father as Tain might have wished, and she worried. 

She could take a break from such worries here. The river’s edge was slippery, creating entirely new worries for her to focus on, and she reached a hand out toward her son.

“Careful, now. We don’t want you dripping on the carpet when we get back. Uncle Tain only just had them deep-cleaned.” More accurately she didn’t want the cold to have a chance to sink its claws in. Elim was not a small boy, but he did sometimes seem frail. She had little faith in how much time she’d have off to tend to him if he did catch cold. She had even less faith in him getting a long enough break from Tain to fully recover. 

“Yes, Mila,” Garak said absently, attention still fixed on the silvery slide of the current over the dark rocks below. Beneath the gleaming surface, he caught sight of a sudden ripple and the tell-tale flash of copper scales; his eyes widened with delight and he turned to Mila, hoping she’d seen it, too.

“Father says _hevati_ are good luck.” He jumped to his feet, trying and failing to keep the excitement from his voice. Mila was always reminding him that such displays were ill suited to their station, but even so, Garak couldn’t wholly suppress his exuberance. “People used to think seeing one meant good things would happen to you.”

“That’s superstitious nonsense,” she snapped and promptly regretted some of the sharpness. Of course Tolan had been telling him Hebitian things; she’d have to speak with him again. It was one thing for him to dream about the old days - he was safe enough from Tain since he was needed for the deception - but Elim couldn’t get away with such treachery. His only shield was her, and she was a flimsy one, these days. Not by choice, never by choice. But Tain was tense even at the best of times and Elim was the easiest target.

“Sometimes, Elim,” she continued in a more gentle tone, “your father says things that shouldn’t be repeated. You need to learn discretion in what you echo from him.” That was better. Maybe it would get through. State knew that sometimes Elim was far too busy daydreaming to truly take in what she was saying.

“I understand,” Garak said quietly after a moment, looking away. “I won’t say anything to Uncle Enabran, I promise.” The last part was automatic, a habitual statement, and judging by Mila’s satisfied glance, she approved. She always did when he mentioned keeping things from him, though he never quite understood why. Garak felt deep down, though, that his uncle might be more furious if he ever found out about their secrets. 

Sometimes he got the impression that Tain knew anyway, even though he’d never said a word.

Mila knew he tried. Bless him, he really did try. When even adults often couldn’t live up to Tain’s standards, though, how was a child to truly stand a chance? He wasn’t Tolan’s son, but she could see Tolan’s heart in him more often than was healthy for the boy.

“Are we going home soon?” Garak chanced a look at his mother, still a bit stung by her earlier rebuke. “I know Uncle doesn’t like us staying out late, but….” He trailed off, letting the river’s babble fill the silent space between them. Maybe it was better not to speak it aloud, but there were times when returning home seemed more daunting than even the most difficult recitation. At least here, with Mila, the ever-present shadow at his back was diminished, even if only slightly.

She held out her hand, and when he came close enough to put his small hand in hers she squeezed it gently. The dismay from her words and the possibility of going home early was written clearly across his face and she couldn’t do that to him. Especially not when Tain might pick up on the former and ask Elim what had happened.

“No. Not quite yet.” Mila gestured with her chin to the bridge up ahead. “I can see the regova egg vendor is still there from yesterday. We can eat before we head back.” Between the treat and the time, her son would have time to recover. 

Elim’s face lit up at the promise of filling his stomach which had begun to grumble, and as the two continued on their journey along the riverbank, the Taluvian Constellations glittered watchfully overhead in the deepening twilight.

\---

“For the last time, Elim, I don’t need to _rest.”_

He knew the boy meant well, but Tolan could sometimes glimpse the fear in his eyes when Garak thought he wasn’t looking; in spite of Tain’s constant, pressing influence, there was still hope for his nephew — by all rights, his _son._

By all rights, Elim should have listened. Tolan was his father and his elder and Mila was constantly on him to listen better and to show proper respect, but how was it respectful to ignore when someone looked poorly? Elim didn’t have so many people in his life that he could be careless with them. He had even fewer who cared about him.

“I’m sure you know best,” Garak replied, meaning the exact opposite. 

Tolan let out a huff of laughter, a wry smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. “Better than you, _odaj’ten._ If you’re so insistent on helping, make yourself useful and take the cart.” He set the handle down, stepping aside. He’d hardly trust just anyone with his beloved flowers, particularly the seedlings whose leaves trembled in the cool of the early spring air. But that was the secret to growing things: they were often hardier than they seemed upon first glance, able to withstand the harsh trials of life — better, even, than their elders. 

“I knew you’d see things my way,” Garak said with no small amount of satisfaction, taking the handle with care. Some of that satisfaction bled away when he realized how light the cart was, even loaded up. Tolan was struggling more than he’d realized. The warmer weather should have started helping, but if it had it wasn’t enough. Garak started to walk, trying to distract himself from thinking overlong on the matter but it didn’t help. Once Tolan’s recent illnesses came to mind, they lingered, casting a shadow on even the greenest of the seedlings.

Beside them, the En’tola River glimmered in the sunlit morning, and Tolan allowed the warmth to spill over him, tilting his face upward to welcome it. It thawed his aching joints and soothed the rawness from his scales, and he basked in the knowledge that Cardassia was coming to life once more. Garak had stopped to look back at him, and he willed patience to the young man; it was something only time could teach him, Tolan knew, but he could help it along as it took root.

“You’re always in such a hurry, Elim,” he remarked, mostly to himself, though Garak had heard. “I’d unlearn that, if I were you. You’ll miss too much that way, and find when you’re my age that life has passed you by before you’ve even noticed.”

“Or, perhaps, I’ll miss less if I hurry, because I can see more,” Garak said, pleased with himself and already a little distracted from his worries by the chance of lively conversation. Only with his father did he get to indulge himself like this; Mila fretted too much, and Tain disapproved of anything that seemed like Garak was showing off. Which was far too many things, as Garak rather enjoyed showing off. He was smart and he knew it. 

He wanted his father to know it, too. 

And that, perhaps, was his greatest motivator in the care he took with the wagon despite how the spring breeze promised a lovely day ahead if they could only finish the chores quickly and free themselves to enjoy it. He wanted Tolan to be proud of him.

“But I will heed your advice as my elder.” He gave Tolan a bow of his head, the very image of propriety even though it wasn’t true.

Tolan laughed then, a true laugh that banished the lingering chill from his bones and even brought a small smile to Garak’s ordinarily severe expression. The boy was too serious for his own good, whatever Tain and Mila said. He was hopeful when he looked at Elim, in a way he hadn’t been in too many long years. His son was the future of Cardassia, even if he didn’t know it yet and that alone made the struggle worthwhile.

“No, you won’t. You never do, Elim,” Tolan countered easily, waving a dismissive hand. “We both know that. But it’s the sentiment that counts, I suppose.” He settled himself upon the canal wall, wincing in spite of himself. It would only serve to worry Elim, but better he learn to face the passage of time than dismiss it entirely. He, too, would grow old one day, an inevitable consequence of being alive. Death had never frightened Tolan in the way it had many others, though he still hoped his own was a ways off yet. He still had much to teach the boy, before it was too late.

Damn Enabran Tain.

Still, the gentle quietude of the city around them was too fragile for such harsh thoughts. Tolan expelled a breath, drawing composure from the murmur of the river below.

As quickly as Tolan’s laugh had filled him with joy, the slow breath and the way Tolan had taken a seat dispelled it. The morning was beautiful, but Garak’s future was uncertain and it was mirrored in the back and forth of Tolan’s mood. He thought he’d done well enough on his first mission, but feedback was not forthcoming and the very definition of his position meant that discussion was out of the question. Gardening was the only task to which he could apply himself that was straightforward. For every plant, a season, a proper soil treatment, the right amount of water and sunlight and specific, known variables. 

It was much like Tolan.

Uncle Tain was unreadable, a sandstorm that could easily destroy anything in its path, drape itself around the unsuspecting and fill the air with confusion, or vanish into the wind. Mila… Mila. She cared. Elim knew that. But there was a distance that had only grown once Garak had begun to work for the Order and he could see no way to bridge it. Only Tolan was steadfast in his life. Uncle Enabran would likely say that meant Tolan was the one that could be least trusted, but Garak knew his father. He knew he knew him.

Garak carefully set the cart down and sat next to Tolan, trying to keep concern from his face. He’d been getting better at smiling all of the time, at hiding his emotions, but just as he knew Tolan, he was known to him.

“I could go on and do the rest for you,” he offered quietly. No doubt the offer would be turned down, but he had to make it. He couldn’t put further at risk the health of the one constant in his life.

“And allow my knees the break they’ve been clamoring for? Never,” Tolan said, a wry smile behind the words. “Don’t indulge me so, Elim, not until I’ve joined the ancestors.” He paused, then added, more softly: “I’m not so frail you need to be doing all the work just yet. I still have things to teach you.”

With a grunt, he pushed himself to his feet at length, and held out a hand to his son. The irony was not lost on Garak, who clasped it anyway before standing. They exchanged a long look, and silently, each willed the other to understand.

\---

There was far too much indulgence in a walk in the summer for Tain’s taste. The warmth invited a slower pace and a laziness to one’s thoughts that entirely interfered with getting anything of note done. He did not allow his annoyance to color his attitude toward Elim, however. There was far too much at risk here. The young man did not know it, but he teetered on the edge between what he should be and what his mother’s brother had tried to twist him into. Tain would not lose all of his work to the influence of a dead man who could not fully devote himself to Cardassia.

They continued along the riverbank and he cast a disparaging glance at the plant beds that had been arranged this past spring by the new groundskeeper, a small, small-minded man with no sense of imagination - the most useful sort of man.

“Everyone has their place and what they can offer,” he said, acknowledging what Elim had just said, “but to offer as little as this, takes so little. We must give more. We are Cardassia’s servants.” Usually he didn’t have to be quite so clear or heavy-handed. Tolan’s passing had caused Elim to falter, however, and Tain did not intend to let that seed take root. It would be weeded out, and Tolan’s influence lost to the past where it belonged.

Garak’s pace beside him was as measured as he willed his chaotic thoughts to be. He knew that Tain was watching him carefully — perhaps even more carefully than he ever had before. The stakes were higher now, the price of failure too dear, far beyond mere disappointment. 

Elim was silent for a while longer, instead choosing to turn his gaze to the river, now muddied by the summer rains. The monsoons had carried sediment down from the Pesh’tal Mountains that sheltered Cardassia City to the north, rendering the current swift and murky.

“And yet,” he said, “the sight of the city without its gardens would be a sorry one, I think.” He couldn’t manage to suppress the flare of grief when he thought about Tolan, nor the subtle ire that colored his tone. He would pay for it later, but Tain’s goading was far clearer to him than it had been for those long years under his watchful guidance as he molded his son into a mirror of himself. 

_His_ son. Tain’s son, but was he, really? Could he be, after everything that had happened?

Tain could easily sense his disquiet; the harder Garak tried to suppress it, the more open a book his feelings were. “Sentiment is the greatest weakness of all,” Tain had said, disdain rife in his expression as he spat the words. “Remember that, Elim.”

And remember it Garak did, but even that was not enough to keep the venom from seeping into his countenance.

While he did not show it outwardly, Tain was bitterly disappointed yet again. He’d set the bar so low, made it so obvious, and even then Elim could not bring himself to rise to it. It was in part his own fault. He should not have allowed Tolan and Mila to coddle the boy so for so long, but he’d thought his distance the wise option. If Elim was not emotionally connected to his own true father, then he would learn to keep others at arm’s length, or so Tain had thought. 

Clearly he had not known how complicated it was to rear a child when setting out upon this path. For far from the first time, Tain regretted allowing Mila to bring Elim into the world. Would this be his legacy, after so much care? After so much attention to every detail? He had done his best by the boy, tried to iron out every weakness, tried to form him into the best of Cardassia’s servants, and this was the result. A child who was attached to a lie when lies were made to be utilized and discarded as quickly as a paper flier.

“There is a place for all in Cardassia’s service,” he repeated, jaw tight. He hated repeating himself. Elim’s memory should have been better than this. “But one must hope their place higher than that of a mere gardener. What sacrifice can a gardener make? How does a groundskeeper truly help Cardassia stay strong? She is owed our best. What sort of Cardassian wouldn’t give her their all?”

Tolan. The Tolan sort of Cardassian would not, had refused to go to Romulus in her service, had meddled altogether too much in Elim’s upbringing. The Tolan sort of Cardassian would undermine and diminish them all.

“What sort of Cardassian, indeed!” Garak snapped, but his anger was quickly replaced by a cold sense of dread at the fury in Tain’s eyes. He forced himself to take a breath, to center himself as Tolan had taught him, and closed his eyes. The world melted away, and the singular sound of the river’s frenzied, rushing waters became the sole focus of his experience.

When he met Tain’s challenging gaze, there was a perfect, placid smile where resentment had been mere seconds before. “I assure you,” Garak said evenly, careful to keep the weight of regret from his words, “I aspire to a service far beyond that which you describe.”

What else did he have left, after all? Tolan was gone and they both knew it. What use was there in clinging to a memory when the real task was still before him? Embracing the specter of a life he would never have would do far more harm than good, and much as he was loath to admit it, there was an element of truth to Tain’s words. 

“You brought me here for a reason,” Garak said, and savored the certainty that Tain would be incensed by his asking. “Why?”

Tain stopped and turned to face Elim directly. Did the boy really think him fooled? Did he think Tain that sloppy or himself that clever? It might be both, considering how good Elim had gotten at putting on a mask of late. There really was only this last chance to give, wasn’t there. So be it.

“Of course you do,” he said, mocking Garak’s earlier assertion. “You aspire to serve Cardassia to your utmost. Which is why you’re attending services for the Oralian Way alongside your lover, the wife of a top official.” 

This was absolutely ridiculous, having to lay things out so clearly. The care he’d taken, the years he’d put into this boy, and still Elim was trying to cling to useless, irrelevant distractions. Tolan hadn’t planted a seed. He’d started a rot. Tain should have removed him years ago. Maybe he should have had Tolan killed in front of Garak, but dwelling on what he should have done in the past is a waste. Especially when there was still a fragment of a chance he could wake Elim up.

Garak paled, and felt the blood drain from his face, ridges going white. 

He knew. Of course he knew. He’d known for nearly as long as the affair had gone on, and allowed it to happen.

Tain continued to watch him, all the while monitoring his reaction to the statement, but Garak wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“I knew you’d find out,” Garak said at last. “How could you not?” It was a rhetorical question, something which infuriated Tain even more than spelling out the subject of their conversation.

He was silent for a moment more, before asking: “What would you have me do?”

What would keep Palandine safe now? Kel? If Tain knew, Barkan Lokar, who was unerringly cunning despite being somewhat slower on the uptake, would find out, too. The man who had displaced Garak at Bamarren, in whose treacherous shadow he had been proven an obedient, simple-minded fool. Perhaps that had been part of this, too: a last-ditch attempt to prove them both wrong in their methods. To argue one final time that the sentimentality which Tain so despised was worth it, despite the cost.

The cost was too high, now that the illusion had been shattered.

Tain softened his expression, a lie. There was a chance Elim could turn around still and Tain wanted that, did not want his work to go to waste, but he would not trust this. Elim had a little of his cleverness — not enough and yet altogether too much — which meant Tain must always be wary.

“You will leave her. Immediately. There will be no further contact.” If Elim spoke with her again, he’d undoubtedly give into the weakness Tolan had taught him. A clean break was the only way. If Elim could do that, a large if, considering everything, Tain would give him this last chance. If he could not, then Tain would know how deeply they both had failed and the only option was putting Elim away.

\---

Palandine couldn’t manage to smile. The joy that normally surfaced at seeing Elim was weighted down, dragged beneath the churning tides of emotion that came and went so frequently these days. She saw it in his eyes, too, when he looked at her. It hadn’t been sustainable, what they’d had, and she’d known it from the beginning. Known, and still hoped that somehow, things would work out.

It had been a dream. A dream of a dream, and now they were out of time.

On the riverbank, the haska trees had begun to shed their crimson leaves in preparation for the coming chill. They floated gently from their branches to the current beneath, which bore them onward to some place beyond. 

Their love was never meant to be a perennial thing, but it hadn’t kept them from foolish hope. She’d agreed to see him one last time before their inevitable parting, and that, too, had been a mistake.

“Don’t worry about me,” she said, Elim’s gaze trained on her, his concern nearly palpable in the slim space between them. “I’ll be all right. Kel, too. Though….” Palandine trailed off, and bit her lip. “Barkan. He’ll find out. And when he does, Elim, he’ll kill you.”

They both knew it was impossible for him not to worry about her or Kel. He hadn’t even been able to stop caring when all they’d had was a few conversations. Now? Oh, now there was no chance. 

“Let him try,” Garak said with false bravado. He had faith in his own cleverness, but Barkan was powerful and with powerful friends, while in coming here to speak with Palandine one more time Garak had cut all of his ties. 

What he wanted more than anything was to reach over and take her hands in his once more. But there was a promise in such contact and he could give her no promises. He could give her nothing at all save his heart and his heart was such a small comfort compared to how her husband misused her.

“All I need is for you to be careful and I will be fine.” A lie, told with the gentlest of smiles. She was the one who had told him to smile more, to hide more of what he was feeling. It had been one of the most useful lessons of his life. Now, though, it seemed life was intent on driving home another, one of solitude. If he’d accepted it years ago, if he’d kept more to himself… No. He could have. He could have closed everything out and behaved and been what Tain wanted him to be but what then? He could not have lived like that. Whatever came of this, it was worth it.

“I think we’re past ‘careful,’ Elim,” she replied, more somberly than intended, and reached up to brush slender fingers over the delicate scales of his aural ridge. “You know what he’s capable of as well as I do. And if he—” she paused, unable to utter the truth aloud. He’d kill Elim. Kill them both, more likely than not, though killing one’s enjoined was among the most grievous of crimes. 

“I couldn’t bear the thought of something happening to you,” Palandine said simply, instead. There were other words there, too, the truth of which resonated within them both, but there was no time to say them plainly.

She hoped Garak knew, just as he hoped his love for her was evident. 

“Nor I you.” Every time Barkan was on the planet, though, something did. She’d worn so many bruises from her enjoined and there was nothing that could or would be done. Cardassia had failed one of her brightest stars. Her light had dimmed and the skies were all the less for it.

Garak leaned into the touch despite himself. He should go. Coming here had been a risk, a choice, and he knew there would be ripple effects. He couldn’t lie to himself and pretend Tain wouldn’t find out. The longer they lingered, the further the risk increased. 

But there would be no other meetings.

Once they parted, they knew they would never see each other again. This was the last time, these were the last touches and the final words. He loved her the way he’d never loved anyone else, including himself, and if there was a way he would swear himself to her side. There was none. She was enjoined and he was no one, especially after this. 

“Look after Kel,” he whispered. Kel’s father wasn’t her fault, and it was the only way he could say what he needed to say without breaking them both. The temperature continued to drop but the cold it brought was far from numbing.

Palandine’s eyes were bright when she looked back at him, and nodded silently.

Overhead the Taluvian Constellations continued to pulse; if this was fate, some sort of Primal Plan, it was a cruel one.

\---

It was many, many long seasons before Garak saw the river again, and her countenance had changed during his time away. Cardassia’s once-beautiful visage was now marred, pockmarked brutally by the remnants of war. Reminders of the savagery lay everywhere in the hollowed-out rubble of Cardassia City, a reflection of the crumbling pride of the Cardassian people.

But there was hope, if one knew where to look.

Kelas reminded him of it every day, in more than just words. Sitting at the river’s edge, a kotra board between them, Garak could almost believe in the normalcy that they’d lost. He wondered sometimes if anyone in the city still sold regova eggs, and if they’d find their way back to these immemorial shores. It was the perfect place for a hard-earned respite, particularly now when the tattered shreds of mundanity were so difficult to come by. 

Garak considered one move and chose another, placing it with a certainty he couldn’t fully feel for his district, not yet. Once he’d called himself a realist only to be accused of being a pessimist and of late he wondered if the two weren’t one and the same.

“There,” he said, smiling despite his thoughts. It was likely Kelas could see through that, but Garak had spent far too many years perfecting his smile to drop it now. “I set up that gambit on a board before, you know, right before some unlucky Federation officers somehow lost their lives. A shame, really. I’d been looking forward to a good game and there they went.”

He’d gone and murdered one, setting up another to die while attempting to kill a third, but who needs the truth? Certainly not them. Or at least not him. And if the story distracted Kelas from countering his piece, all the better.

Kelas steepled his fingers, unperturbed. “I’d been looking forward to a good game, as well, but I confess myself disappointed.” He slid a piece into place, raising a brow ridge as he regarded Garak. “This is unlike you, Elim.”

He worried about his friend. Occasionally, Garak’s joy at being home once more was eclipsed by something darker and more sinister, but there was little to be done. He’d lost more than many, but less than others, and the only way Cardassia could begin to pick up the pieces was as a collective whole.

“ _Majk’et,_ ” he said, upon Garak’s intentional silence, “I think there’s something you’re not telling me.”

“Me?” Garak asked with deliberate innocence. “My dear doctor. When have I ever withheld anything from you?” 

“I won’t insult either of us by answering that.”

Garak sighed heavily as if put-upon, shaking his head. “You’re going to have to be far more specific then, if you think there’s many things I’ve kept from you. What in particular are you after? My breakfast, perhaps? My scale-scrubbing regimen? Perhaps the stitch I used to finish this shirt.”

Parmak gave an impatient shake of his head; there was no sense in drawing out a fruitless match. He pushed his final piece across the board, driving the proverbial stake even further in with a neatly-executed win.

“If you’re going to be this obvious, it’s a wonder we’re even having this conversation. When was the last time you wrote to your Doctor Bashir?” Kelas narrowed his eyes, leaning forward. 

Garak shook his own head, frowning at the win he’d allowed. Perhaps he _was_ distracted after all.

“Perhaps if you’re so busy knowing everything you should already know that.” It was more defensive than he’d like. _His_ doctor Bashir. If only, but he already knew how futile his longing there was.

“Unlike you, Elim, I don’t make information my business. What you do with your personal life only becomes my concern when it begins to affect your judgment at large,” Kelas said, punctuating the sentence with a sigh. 

“I can’t see how you’re complaining when it means you win at kotra.” Garak began setting the pieces back in their starting positions, not looking up. He was not going to risk meeting Kelas’ eyes; this was far too complicated to risk prodding at that particular wound.

Parmak softened, then, as he considered his friend. “I’m worried about you. About us all, but there’s only so much help I can give to the people outside my reach. You’ll call me sentimental, I’m sure, but I have a vested interest in your happiness.”

“You’re sentimental, Kelas,” Garak obliged, holding one piece at random and turning it over. It was quite like Parmak to poke and pry, but normally the topic wasn’t quite so close to Garak’s heart. He’d heard that the doctor and counselor had broken up and so of course Julian was back on his mind. Or back at the forefront - Julian was rarely far from his thoughts. 

“I wrote,” Garak finally continued. “But I haven’t sent it. It’s entirely too long and too sentimental.” It made him entirely too vulnerable.

Kelas shot him a withering look, unimpressed by the excuses. “Perhaps,” he said quietly, “a bit of sentimentality wouldn’t go amiss. You hardly have anything to lose, Elim. We’ve been through a war.” His expression grew distant, and they fell into a silence filled only by the water’s trickling whisper. 

It was unfortunately true. Garak had very little to lose. Sending that letter would be a closure of sorts as in it would close that door, and that was what Garak feared. He wanted to still sometimes dream of Julian coming to Cardassia someday, driven by love, and the silence that would no doubt answer Garak’s letter would end that.

“Did I tell you it’s approximately three hundred pages long?” Garak asked, or perhaps said. It didn’t matter if he’d told Kelas that detail or not, because the doctor had a point. Fear held him back, and it was an empty fear. He couldn’t be rejected if he didn’t ask. 

“Ancestors’ mercy,” Parmak breathed, looking skyward. “I hope he has a strong constitution.”

“Oh, certainly not,” Garak glibly returned as he made his first move. “He’ll run screaming, but that was always the foregone conclusion.”

Kelas offered him a tight-lipped smile. “I don’t think you ought to wager with me, Elim, unless your gambling is better than your kotra.”

He had no intention of wagering with Kelas on this. The hope it would stir in his chest would be altogether too painful when he won, because he would also lose. It would be a bet he could never bear to collect. The way Julian had so easily let him go still stood stark in his mind, but what else could the good doctor have done? Their parting had to happen. It had been inevitable.

“You don’t know him,” he replied, quietly offering up one of the first truths he’d spoken that day in more than just the words. Oh, Parmak already knew how much Garak wanted Julian, or some of it, but Garak still tried not to confirm it most of the time.

“I may not know him, but I do know _you,_ much as it ails me at times.” His smile grew genuine, then, when the words drew a chuckle from Garak. 

The chuckle turned into a sigh and Garak sat back in his chair. Perhaps it was time to move on and move forward. Dwelling was unhealthy and there was so much to rebuild. He had a people to serve.

“Tonight, Kelas. I’ll send it tonight.” He wasn’t sure he was ready, but he’d said it and he would follow through.

\---

The babble of the river was familiar again. Like Cardassia, it was finding equilibrium after the destruction. Like Garak, it was remaking and settling into its new path. The winter had been colder than usual thanks to the debris in the atmosphere, but its chill grip was breaking.

Or maybe Garak was simply feeling like things were better due to his company. 

“I wasn’t aware Cardassia City had a river,” Bashir remarked, watching the spirited waters as they tripped over the riverbed stones in their haste to scramble downstream. 

“It didn’t,” Garak lied happily. “But when they heard they’d been defeated the vorta came here to cry at the failure of their gods and a new river was formed.” Happily. When was the last time he’d done anything while feeling that? 

Julian elbowed him lightly. It had grown easy for him to discern the lies — or at least the obvious ones. He slipped an arm through Garak’s, drawing close to his side. Closeness was a luxury neither had ever been sure they could afford, but the status quo had been one of the many merciful casualties of the war. 

Garak smiled fondly, eyes crinkling in delight at the elbow and then added contact. With his free arm he gestured at the upper bank.

“Do you see the seedlings up there? They’ve begun replanting the trees. Tolan planted the last generation of them, years ago, with the help of a little tag-along.” He’d known then that he wasn’t to be a groundskeeper like the man he’d still thought was his father, but he’d enjoyed it anyway. Again, it was probably the company, the man who had crossed space and left familiarity and his people behind for him, Elim Garak. 

“More of a hindrance than a help is my guess,” Julian teased him, a softness in his expression that Garak had never dared hope would belong to him. Even now it stirred wonder in Garak’s heart.

They stood together for a time, surveying the tranquil scenery around them. Life had begun to blossom once more in Cardassia City, much as their relationship had — slow, almost tentative at first, but with an untrammeled passion that spoke of the unshakeable love beneath. 

“It’s lovely here,” Julian remarked, with a meaningful look at his partner. Impulsively, he bent to press a brief kiss to Garak’s cheek. He could never tire of the moments like these, where “just because” was an ample excuse. In the waning shadow of tragedy, the smallest moments were often the happiest. They’d been deprived of ordinary miracles for long enough.

For a short moment Garak considered letting that be enough. They were out in public on Cardassia, after all, and while no one was too close, they weren’t alone. The proper thing to do would be to move on.

He had lost so much trying to do things properly.

Garak turned and reached up, cupping Julian’s face in his hand before shifting to his tiptoes to kiss Julian on the lips. It was lovely here, but it was made lovely by all that went into this moment, all that came before it. He’d seen this river so many times, in so many situations and seasons and years, and in this moment it was perfect.

Julian smiled into the kiss, and despite his awareness of propriety, he didn’t pull away for many long moments. 

“We’ll scandalize the neighbors,” he murmured, still drawn close, one hand tracing the gentle slope of Garak’s jaw ridge. 

“I’ll blame it on you,” he said warmly, leaning into the touch that he’d wanted for so long. “You’re only human, you can’t be expected to know all of Cardassia’s culture and customs already.”

“Convenient. Sure, blame it on the human,” Bashir laughed, taking Garak’s hand in his own. He wasn’t nearly so affected by the brisk springtime as his lover, but the warmth of contact was welcome all the same. “I shudder to think what else you might accuse me of.”

“Oh, but where do I begin?” Garak replied, but this time it was less teasing and more warm. His happiness was only one thing he could blame Julian for. His survival was another. “You are quite guilty, Julian Bashir, and there is only one way to answer for it. Stay.”

One word. So small, so innocuous, but rife with a sentimentality Julian had rarely witnessed in his friend.

 _Stay,_ Garak said, but something else, too: _stay with me._ Here, where they could watch the water’s ebb and flow, undeterred by the passage of time. Where the seasons would change, but their steadfast bond would not, the sole constant each had longed so desperately for. 

Julian regarded him with open fondness, a smile tugging at his lips. The answer was obvious, but he said it anyway.

“Yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> Kardasi and cultural notes by StarlightSkies:  
> The Kardasi and geographical terms are (with a handful of exceptions) references to the research, worldbuilding, and conlang work I've done for my own post-canon Cardassia works. Anyone is welcome to use them!
> 
>  _En’tola’tkel_ \- the En’tola River, which runs from the northern coast of Eheen through Cardassia City to the Jaral Delta in the south before emptying into the Arda’ala Sea.
> 
>  _Hevati_ \- freshwater fish who rarely venture inland as far as Cardassia City; believed by the Hebitians to be drops of sunlight fallen to the earth and given physical form.
> 
>  _Odaj’ten_ \- “smooth-neck,” a typical insult among younger Cardassians and an occasional term of endearment from an elder addressing a youth.
> 
>  _Majk’et_ \- “my friend,” from _majkt_ (“friend,” “companion”) + first person personal possessive _et._


End file.
